The Tale of the Archer and the Maid
by cheddarbiscuit
Summary: I may not be Princess Zelda, but that does not mean Hyrule is not a sovereign nation that desperately needs your help.
1. How Ilia Came to the Tree

Disclaimer: I do not own these character and I did not make any profit from this venture. I disavow any knowledge of it entirely. Who are you? What am I doing here?

* * *

Chapter One: How Ilia came to the Tree

The needle stabbed Ilia's thumb a third time.

The girl winced, her lungs drawing a quick gasp of air as her hand flew to her mouth to soothe the pain and stop the bleeding. Tears pricked at her eyes. "Damn Fado." she sniffed as she watched the bead of red swell on her thumb, "Just… Just damn him."

None of the other ladies heard her. Uli or Sera had told some joke—or some story of their children—and now they all laughed louder than she could gripe. Ilia's eyes drifted to the children splashing in the river. She did not like it. She did not understand it. Fado had asked for her hand in marriage and suddenly she was expected to see her friends in a different light, overnight she was supposed to see them as things to be fawned over and cooed at.

"Ilia…" Uli interrupted her thoughts, "Ilia, dear, are you…" she chose her words with care, "Well…?"

Ilia did not answer. She looked at the tangle of thread and cloth on her lap, "I do not want to work on… On _this_ anymore."

She tossed it away, needle and all. A breeze blew by, and with out the fabric on her lap, it was a welcome coolness on her skin. It was the hottest part of the afternoon. Too hot for work, but not too hot for play. Talo and Colin splashed each other in the river, forgetting how the sunlight could burn them. Before, just a few days before, Ilia had sat beside Beth on the little jetty and kicked her feet in the water and let the sun roast her shoulders—but now she was a _wife_ (unofficially) she had to sit in the still, stifling shade for the sake of her complexion and sew her wedding dress.

"You'll want it done when he returns." Sera said it like Ilia was still a child to scold, "You should not tell him yes after so long and have him _wait_ on your dress."

 _Which am I?_ Iia wanted to scream, _a woman or a child?_ But she did not need to scream. It was too hot to scream. Instead, she hissed, "What if I don't _want_ to say yes?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. Ilia did not look at them. She did not want to know what she would she in their eyes if she did. Soft as the breeze, her aunt Uli scooted forward. Ilia prepared to suffer through the speech she had heard many times before, even _before_ Fado had asked for her hand. He had land. He had means. Any woman would want him. "Ilia, sweetie…"

"Objectively, it is the best choice."

Ilia glared at the one child in Ordon that _wanted_ to be perched on the porch with the women. Malo was the youngest, and yet the strangest and smartest. His voice was level, unnatural for his few years, "If you married someone _outside_ of Ordon, they would be a stranger here, and you might never see us again."

Ilia narrowed her eyes. At the moment, _that_ did not seem so bad.

"He would take you away from an emotional support network, and the isolation would lead to distrust, anger, depression—an imbalance in the humors. It would not be good for you to leave Ordon."

With that, Malo settled back into his seat at his mother's knee. Pergie looked a little confused, a little concerned, Ilia just shook her head. Across the way, on her father's porch, the men had gathered to play cards and drink weak beer. As night was the time for men and women— _husbands and wives,_ Ilia cringed—to meet in private, the mid-day heat drove them into two separate camps. Fado had gone to the men's side of the road on her father's porch a long time ago. Ilia could not remember a time when he was _not_ there. Fado had gone to Castletown, but the men were no less loud without him. He was a tradesman, a member of the guilds, a merchant. Taxes and dues had to be paid, agreements made, contracts signed. Ilia hoped, she prayed, she _begged_ he would find a better wife.

She thought of all the things husbands and wives did. She did not want to hold his hand. The thought of sitting across from him at the table made her shudder. The idea of laying in a bed waiting for him to join her made her want to crawl inside herself and die. Ilia did not hate Fado. When Bulblins came to harass someone Fado would be the one to send them away with a bottle of ale, if someone was ill, Fado would be the one to fetch a doctor. The cheese Fado sold in the town brought them flour and salt. Fado kept them safe, Fado kept them well. She could never hate him.

She just _dreaded_ him.

"I could just _not_ get married." She had been tossing the idea around for a while. Every day it seemed more appealing. Uli laid a hand on her shoulder. Ilia looked at her wedding dress crumpled to her left. There was a permanance to Fado. He had the appeal of a set of closed windows and a locked door, all the comfort and shelter she and her father could not provide—none of the freedom.

"Not get married?" Sera exclaimed, "Who in their right mind—"

"MAAAAAAIL."

The loud, familiar wail of the mailman cut through Ilia's thoughts. All activities stopped. The play of the children was forgotten, as was Ilia's talk of never getting married. She watched Talo and Colin run, dripping wet, to the man and his red flag. He laughed nervously when they rushed him. He had no mail, no packages for them. He picked his way around them and went to the camp of women on Uli's porch. Pergie stood to take the mail—Uli was too weighed down by her pregnancy to move so quickly. Ilia watched the envelopes and scrolls change hands from the mailman to Pergie, from Pergie to Uli.

Then the postman looked at her.

And he balked.

He looked towards the city gate. He lifted his hat to scratch his head, he looked back to her, "How did you…? And where is…? Oof!"

Talo pushed past him. Ilia watched, confused, as the man fell over himself. He straightened his hat, looked at her strangely, and did not wait for her answer. All mail was delivered, he went on his way. Ilia did not see why Talo was so excited—he never got anything. Who would send mail to a child? Still, Talo was a curious boy and wanted to hear the stories from distant friends Rusl recieved. Uli smiled and quietly shifted though the mail until she found one for her husband, "Here-for Rusl. You and Coldin take it to him."

Eager, Talo wiped his wet hand on his shirt. He clutched the letter with dry fingers and raced with Colin, shouting, "Read it! Read it!"

Pergie laughed fondly, and unwound a scroll from her sister. Ilia felt the prod of an envelop corner on her arm, "Fado has written to you." Uli said softly.

"Oh." Ilia was not interested. She tucked her hands away and did not touch it. "Has he?"

"It would be smart of you to read it. Exposure to him will help you like him." Malo advised.

Ilia decided Malo was out for some kind of vengence.

She took the letter, but she did not read it. She could not read either way. Her father had never had the want to teach her, maybe _he_ could not read, either, and by the time she was old enough, Uli was busy with Colin, Pergie was busy with Talo, and Sera was busy with Beth. She had never learned. She knew enough to recognise her own name, her father's name and _Ordon_ but that was all she knew. She tucked the letter into the wrinkled dress and did not look at it.

"I don't _want_ to read it."

Uli took the letter back with a soft sigh and tucked it behind her own mail, "My mother—your grandmother—in Arcadia has written."

"Hmm." Ilia tucked her knees under her chin. Once she had wanted to see Acadia, see the world, but now she knew it was impossible. She was doomed to a life in Ordon, Malo was right. A life tending goats and shrinking away from Fado in the house they were meant to share. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her knees. Arcadia seemed impossible when Ordon was so suffocating.

Uli scanned the letter. Ilia could barely read her own language, and Uli could read, write and speak _two._ Her mother only wrote in Arcadian. Uli laughed, a merry, quick sound, "A pair of Hylian travelers have come to her inn. It seems like she has taken a liking to them. He spends his days at the library, and she hires herself out as a bodyguard."

 _A daring path,_ Ilia thought to herself, _Arcadia does sound like a dream._

"She's in good spirits and fine health. She sends you her love, Ilia."

"It would be nice if I got to meet her." Ilia straightened herself up. "It is strange to send love to someone I've never seen."

"Someday, you'll see Illium." Uli said with all the confidence of someone who knew it would never be, "I'll take you to the house I grew up in. You would like it there."

"Enough to stay?" Ilia asked, "Forever?"

"It is a change from Ordon." Uli replied, "But—"

"But all you'll ever need is right here." Sera assured her loudly. She had no mail to keep her quiet, "You've got famly here. A good husband waiting for you—a good husband you _know_ is good. Uli—"

Uli jumped.

"Tell Ilia about how you and Rusl met. How did an Arcadian and a Catalian wind up settled in Hyrule of all places?"

"Now is not the time, Sera!" Uli hissed.

Ilia rolled her eyes and looked to her father's porch, where Rusl read his letter aloud on Colin and Talo and the men listened in. She supposed it was also from Fado. She could imagine no one else, though Colin and Talo looked like they had received the thrill of their young lives. Uli and Sera's bickering faded into the background. Ilia's interest was piqued. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. Fado could never share a thrilling word in his life, at least, not to her. Thinking, mostly out of spite, that she should follow Malo's advice, she left her Aunt's porch and went to her father's stairs.

"As for our mutual friends…" Rusl narrated, "They have sent word to me that they have arrived safely at their destination. To hear the boy tell it, the city of Ilium boasts a library beyon compare. His latest letter, which I just read, told of his 'Overbounding exuberance.' How lucky we are to have a friend to teach us such fancy words."

Colin laughed.

"That letter isn't from Fado."

"No. It's from Telma."

That explained it. Telma was much better at weaving a good yarn. Ilia cared much more to hear from Telma. She had never met her, but she knew Rusl and Uli well. She was a friend of her father's, or had been a friend of her mother's. Ilia had been told once, but she had forgotten. Telma's letters were never addressed to any one person, just the whole of Ordon. She wrote things down day after day while she waited for the mailman to return, who always came their way after Castletown. What important things they had missed, who had arrived, so on. Ilia sat down on the stairs below Talo and Colin.

"Your man Fado arrived on schedule and in good heath, with only a bump on the head and a bruised ego courtesy of some stray Bulblins outside of Kakariko, the remnants of a disbanded raiding party on their way back from Tolemac (not like Fado knew this, but I can add sticks just fine) At a glance, he seemed no worse for wear, and he busied himself and bothered all patrons with endless questions about a 'perfect gift'—but he failed to tell me who he was asking for. With that little detail missing (give my love to Ilia!) he was given suggestions as bad as 'two pounds of salt beef', 'socks', and 'a new helm'. But once we all knew the toasts did not stop until midnight and the lot of them raised one hundred rupees so he could—" Rusl stopped and looked directly at her, "It is a surprise, so I will not tell you."

"Fine." Ilia grumbled, "That's fine I don't want to hear from Telma anymore anyway."

She left abruptly and joined Beth at the little foot bridge to dangle her feet in the cold water. Maybe it would help cool her boiling blood.

"Ilia!" Talo shouted from her father's steps, "If the surprize is candied oranges—I'm not saying it _is_ but _if_ Fado got you candied oranges, can I have some?"

Ilia would have smothered him in candied fruits if it meant she would have a moment's peace, "No!"

"Then it's _coal_." Talo replied, grumpily.

Ilia ignored him. She closed her eyes and dragged her feet through the water. She was so much taller than Beth that her feet went into the ankle, while her's only scraped the surface. Rusl continued to read the letter, Ilia tried her best to tune him out, but she could not help but listen still.

"By the time you get this letter, a man might have come your way—"

Beth was a distraction; "Mom and Uli have you working on your dress."

"Yes—and I'm not very good."

"And you haven't gone to the woods."

"No."

"Are you?"

It _did_ need to be done. Ilia had put it off for too long and supplies were running thin. It was more important than her wedding dress; the trees in Ordon were there for shade and fruit. Firewood had to come from the woods. There were plenty of vegetables in the garden this time of year, but the wild berries in the woods added a little sweetness to their mornings and the wild mushrooms took the place of meat so Ilia did not need to slaughter a good laying hen every week.

"Don't you think you should?"

"It would be nice to have a little peace."

"Maybe you should take me, too? You have so much more to do and we don't have much. I'd be living off honey-glazed carrots and bread without the mushrooms you bring."

That was not entirely true. Ilia already traded Sera some spinach and tomato for bread and honey. She would have that, too, "Not today. It will be hot and you'd get tired."

"Tomorrow?" Beth pushed, "I need to learn what's good and what isn't." Beth had a point, Ilia supposed, but there was nothing poisonous growing in the woods. Ilia would have taken advantage of it already it there was. Beth kept talking, "When you get married—"

 _Again_ with that word! Now she understood. Sera and Beth were both taking up the crusade. Ilia abruptly pulled her feet from the river. Water splashed against the wooden boards and over Beth. She yipped and leaned back, "Ilia!"

If Ilia was going to scream at anyone, she did not want it to be Beth, and if she was going to say anything at that moment— _she would scream it._ So she said nothing. She marched to the house, ignoring Talo and Colin on the steps and the men in their chairs. Rusl stopped reading about some wild spectacle, Jaggle jumped in his seat and her father spluttered a quick, "Ilia!"

Ilia did not acknowledge him, either. She grabbed her sling and her basket from where the door, ready if ever she was. She turned and marched back through the door. The men moved back. Talo and Colin dove for the safety of the cool, damp dirt under the porch, and again, her father spluttered, " _Ilia!"_

"Good day, _sirs_." Ilia hissed before she left them. The separate camps were silent. Ilia turned her back to Fado's ranch and stormed northward, towards Faron woods and the tall house.

She steeled herself. There was a third camp, and it was still plenty loud. Ilia almost stopped in her tracks, but she swallowed her fear and pressed on. She could handle Bulblins. She had before, she could now. Her fingers were a bloodless white on the edge of her basket and the blood was pounding in her ears. She could handle Bulblins.

The camp sprawled around the base of the tall house, with two fires and a rubbish heap. Rain or shine they would be there, despite the empty house right beside them. The camp itself was circled around the ladder leading to the tall house as if someone was expected to emerge from it. No one ever did. No one ever would. Ilia often thought of moving into it herself; no one owned it, it would not be stealing. She would be removed from the village without leaving it entirely, and why would she need anything else? But she thought of the Bulblins below and their stinking pile of rubbish and their horrible leader and such thoughts were quickly kicked aside.

"She's riled up today, boss."

"She's pretty when she's angry."

Ilia felt a chill run up her spine and the spur of anger vanished quickly. She did not break her stride. She did not blink an eye. King Bulblin blocked her path. He always blocked her path. Once, a long time ago, he had moved out of her way whenever she came, snickering as she scurried past his shadow. Those days had passed. Now he just sat there, always, waiting for her. A red-eyed, green mass. He was not going to move. Ilia knew that. She would run right into him if she kept going. She slowed.

She stopped.

He smirked.

His dagger moved quickly and brutishly in his heavy hands. It was a sudden twist, just so the light on the steel would catch her eye. There was no skill to it. It was just a threat. Ilia drew herself up to her full height. He still seemed to tower over her.

"Haven't seen you in a while."

"Let me pass."

"Heard you're getting hitched."

"Let me pass."

He did not let her pass. He shifted his weight so that his massive green body filled the narrow pass Ilia wanted to go through tighter. He smiled, as comfortable as he would be in a nest of pillows. He examined the length of his knife with his thumb, pretending she was not worth looking at, but his red eyes flicked to her before focusing on her reflection in the blade. Ilia said it again, "Let me pass."

King Bulblin lifted his knife and pointed the tip at her. His beady, coal-red eyes looked at her past the blade. The way his tongue ran over his peelings lips when he did it made her skin crawl, and she wanted to run home and hide under her bed, but she stood her ground. He hummed thoughtfully. It was a grating sound, like heavy boulders rolling to her. He went back to sharpening his blade. Ilia swallowed her fear, "Let me go."

"Fado's just gonna let you—his little wife—march into the woods alone?" he tutted, "The woods are a mighty dangerous place, Little Lady. Got Deku Babas in there, monkeys, wolves, snakes… You're risking life and limb and your fiance…" he trailed off. He wanted her to say it. She kept her mouth shut, "You'll need to remind me, _where_ is your man?"

"Castletown." Ilia muttered, "He's in Castletown."

"Hmmm…" King Bulbln hummed to some unheard music. Behind her, the Bulblins cackled with voices like twigs breaking in a fire. Her hand tightened into a fist. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was scared. She was angry. King Bulblin laughed at her, "Marrying the richest man in Ordon and you still have to forage in the woods, Little Lady?"

Again, he wanted the satisfaction of her answer. He laughed, but his eyes did not close. His eyes would not let her go. Ilia bore it in silence. Let him look. What could she do to stop him? She bowed her head. "Yes."

"If you were my woman-" he boasted, "I'd treat you like a queen."

His eyes left her and focused on the roaring fire roasting hunk of meat—a deer, maybe a wild boar. Ilia's mouth watered at the thought of it. Her stomach turned with hunger and disgust. She would rather _starve_ than suffer his hands on her. While she had her head turned, she could feel him inching closer, his hot breath on her neck, his fingers reaching to touch her bones and tell her she was too skinny.

She jumped and turned. He had not moved. "You'd look better fat."

" _Let me go._ "

He ignored her. He leaned back and spread his like like he was some gilded wonder to present, "I'd stuff you with plenty of things, pashmak, hawla, marzipan…"

Ilia shuddered. The Bulbins behind her snickered. This was a game to them. They left her alone, but they loved to watch him whittle her down. King Bulblin rubbed a hand between his legs as his eyes searched her, "Or maybe I'd keep you skinny, starve you down until until you'd do anything for a sip of water or a crust of bread."

Ilia could not bring herself to look at him. She told herself he did not really mean it. The Bulblins just loved to torment others, it was their very nature. If Ilia went into the woods, she would lose a little to the Bulblins as a toll, but if Beth, Colin or Talo even tried, they would lose a lot. Talo had once come back from the woods with a handful of berries and an eyeful of tears, having been told he could only take what he could carry _without_ a basket. Colin had received an elbow to the forehead for catching one too many fish and they had hacked Beth's hair off with a bloody knife when she had found "too many" apples.

There was one—and only one—advantage to being the object of his attention. None of the other Bulblins dared to even speak to her. He did not really mean it. He just liked to see her frightened and eventually he would get bored with tormenting her. Fado would marry her and he would leave her be for the same reason he let Uli and Sera and Pergie be. She would be second-hand goods. It would be one good thing to come from that marriage.

" _Please_ let me go."

"For a kiss."

Ilia opened her eyes. King Bulblin had leaned forward—close enough she could smell the sweat on his skin and the beer on his breath. He was not moving. Not until she submitted to him. Ilia wished she had brought Beth along. Beth would be bold enough to run screaming. She could hardly believe what she had heard. She took a step backwards.

"Kiss me, Little Lady." King Bulblin did not move. He would not let her go in peace.

Ilia wanted to gnaw her lip—she did not. He might think it was anticipation and not dread. Instead, she shook her head again and she managed a weak, "No."

He was not pleased. That sharp smile stayed carved on his face but it vanished from his eyes at once. Carefully, he stood. The camp quieted. Ilia took a step back. He took a step forward, trying to trap her against the rock ledge. Ilia shrank away from him and whispered again, "No."

"No, Little Lady?"

He had left the passage to the woods open. Ilia decided to move. She ducked under his arm and dove for the passage, catching herself on her hands and scrambling up before his finger had even closed around empty air. It was a straight shot from there to the woods. She could out run him. He was large and slow and ran out of breath after a few steps but the others? They were small, and just as quick as her.

"You'll get back here, Little Lady, if you know what's good for you."

Ilia risked a glance back. The Bulblins were tripping over themselves to do his bidding. Ilia thought, for one moment of peace, that she _did_ have a chance, but a root caught her bare toes and she fell, hitting her cheek against the wall of the narrow pass. The basket cracked and crumpled below her. She tasted blood and stars danced before her eyes. She could not breathe. The world pitched. The gate leading out of Ordon loomed above her. It was supposed to keep them safe—it was supposed to keep the Bulblins out. It was not supposed to keep them trapped in.

"Go on!" King Bulblin shouted behind a pile of squirming Bulblins. He separated them with a powerful kick, "Drag her back screaming!"

Ilia pulled herself up, fingers clawing against the wall of the pass. The Bulblins were not far behind her, they were scattered and groaning from the force of their boss' kick, but they were picking themselves up. Ilia grabbed hold of her sling. A Bulblin grabbed the other end and jerked it violently. Ilia let go. He toppled back. Ilia could weave another basket. She could sew another sling. She would never be able to fix herself if King Bulblin got his hands on her. She staggered past the spirit spring to the low gate that barred her way. She could take her chances on Hyrule field, a territory she did not know with no hiding places, few resources and _even more Bulblins_ or she could take her chances in Faron Woods, which she knew like the back of her hand and she could survive in for days. She would take the woods.

Ilia did not unlatch the gate. She jumped for it. The wooden bars scratched and scraped the soles of her feet. A Bulblin grabbed the back of her shirt. She jabbed her heel into his gut. He did not let go. Her shirt ripped at the seam. Another grabbed her by the ankle and tried to tear her off of the gate. The pain of it cut through her shoulders, but she did not let go. She kicked. She clawed. She pulled herself back to the gate, a hand at first, then her elbow, then her shoulder.

"Where do... You have... _to go!?_ " King Bulblin demanded, the short run from the Bulblin camp to Faron gate had left him winded, "You'll come right back… _here_ and I'll be waiting."

He stormed forward. In fear of the club he hd dragged with him, the Bulblins scurried away. Ilia threw herself over the gate. Pain bloomed in her side, spreading like a vine down her arm. Whimpering, she dragged herself away. Then she crawled. Then she ran. The fall hurt everything; her lungs, her legs, her head. She could hear the King Bulblin breaking through the gate behind her. She did not stay on the path. The first chance she got, she plunged into the thick trees. Branches slapped her face. Sweat burned her raw skin. Her throat burned. She kept going, pushing through the pain until her body had forgotten _how_ to stop. He was right. She did not have anywhere to run to. Ordon was it for her. Ordon was all she had, and all she would ever be. He would never leave, and she would never get the chance. No matter what she did, she had to go back. There was no where else for her.

Ilia stopped when she could no longer hear King Bulblin's taunts through the trees. His booming voice had stunned the woods to silence. No birds sang. No creatures moved. Her ragged breathing was all she could hear. She pressed her back against a tree. She squeezed her arms around herself. She cried.

For the first time in her life, she actually _hated_ Fado.

She had not hated him when he asked her father for her hand instead of her. She had not hated him when he treated their engagement like it was nothing and left town the next morning. She never thought she _could_ hate him.

But now? Now she did. She _really_ hated Fado.

She would not hate him in the morning. She would not love him, but in the morning she would only _hate_ King Bulblin. She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her head against the tree. The tears burned the scrapes branches had left on her cheeks. The breeze dried the tears so her face felt stiff and sticky.

She had not much cared to marry him before. She hardly saw the point of it, but she knew once it was over and done with King Bulblin would leave her be, and Fado _did_ live more comfortably than she and her father did thanks to his land and business. If she did not have children, who _would_ take care of her in her old age? Ilia slid down the apple tree until she sat in its roots. Have _children_ in a world like this? For her own gain? She would probably die anyway, like her mother had. She should just kill herself now. It would be the kinder thing to do.

She heard hooves.

She looked back to Ordon. Something _big_ was tearing through the trees and heading her way. King Bulblin must have grabbed his Bullbos to search the woods for her. She could not outrun him on _that._ It moved closer. He must have beaten in into a blind frenzy to make it move so fast. Was he going to grab her by the hair and drag her though the woods? Run her down an leave her for dead? Throw her over its back and break her bones with his bare hands?

Ilia panicked. She looked for any place she could hide and her eyes fell on a patch of darkness under the roots of the apple tree. It was large. Large enough for her, at least. Maybe it was an old foxhole, or a den of snakes. Maybe the animals were still using it. Ilia did not care. She jumped for it. The roots scratched her cheek, her shoulders, her exposed back and she squirmed and pushed herself in side. She reached forward, her hands searching in pitch darkness as her body blocked any light from reaching the bottom. She felt cold stone and soft, crumbling earth. No fur. No scales. Nothing was inside. She pulled her feet in as the ground started to shake under the hooves. A shadow passed over the entrance to the hollow. A black blurr of motion. The Bulbo moved so fast stray clumps of dirt flew into the hollow. Ilia held her breath. The thundering stopped. She swallowed a sob and pushed herself as far back as her hiding place would let her.

The hooves started to move, slow and careful. The beast was circling. King Bulblin was looking for her. Ilia felt a scream threaten to tear out of her. Her heartbeat seemed to echo around the hollow and she felt like the sun was shining directly on her, like anyone who looked would see her clearly sitting there. With shaking fingers, she reached out to search the wall for another nook to hide herself in. She found only wispy little roots and a pebble that fell to the ground when her fingers brushed it.

And that is how Ilia came to the tree.


	2. Green Eyes

There was a terrible noise.

It was King Bulblin. She was certain of it. Having failed to find her, he was trying to scare her out. The terrible noise seemed to echo around her. Ilia curled into a ball as the sound cut through the silence of the woods. Her teeth bared down on her lip. Her hands tugged painfully at her hair. She turned her face to the earthen wall. It was cool and damp and comforting and smelled like the earth under her tomato plants, like Pergie's pumpkin patch, like the damp grass by the river.

Ilia could not scream even if she wanted too. She could not make a sound for fear of being found. She could only press her face to to dirt and pray that Farore would shield her from him, that she would make the trees grow thick around him, and that the woods would swallow him whole when he rode on so that she could slip home quietly and she would never have to face him again.

It was _laughter_.

The clacking of a man gone mad, a shutter in a storm. Ilia did not dare move. The longer the fit continued, the less it sounded like King Bulblin, but that was no reason not to be afraid. It was high and shrill, almost a scream. Then it calmed, it quieted. Feet touched the forest floor, crunching on last season's dry leaves. He was lighter on his toes than King Bulblin, too. His voice was smoother. "A new star is born—and he shall outshine even you!"

Careful not to make a sound, Ilia slipped to the mouth of her hiding place. A man and a horse had come to a stop a stone's throw away from her (she could throw stones very far). He staggered and leaned against the horse. It was a tall thing, towering, if the man was of average height. He was speaking to the sun. Her eyes followed wide trail of the horse had torn through the trees. The poor thing. It must have so many cuts and bruises.

"I've _done it!_ " He straightened up. Ilia slipped back so she was hidden deep enough that he would not see her. He was not expecting to find anyone, why would he look? If she moved, she might snap a twig or disturb a rock and he would hear her. If she waited, he would move on and never know she was there. She watched as he removed the bit from the horse's teeth, "I've well and truly done it. I-I've…" He stepped back. He ran a hand through his black hair to tame it. His tone changed from pride to panic, "I have set the stage for my denouement."

The horse did not seem to care. He searched his master for a treat, his nose pressing against his empty fingers, his palm, his sides.

"It's curtains for me!" he insisted, "It's my final hour! The finest of messes and you—you..? Ah, well, of course you'd like a treat. You've done well. Good horse… Can I call you good horse? Or course I can. You're a horse."

The man turned towards her hiding place. Ilia ducked down and listened to his light footsteps move closer. Then the horse's heavy hooves followed. The leaves rustled. "Here."

The horse huffed in approval, and bit the fruit right out of the stranger's hand. Ilia watched in terrified resignation as he plucked a second apple from the tree and set himself down less than an arm's length away from her hiding place. Ilia did not dare move an inch. He would notice movement. The man continued to talk, his head tilted as he watched the horse. "Really, I'm not a pet person. I'm ill-suited to commitment, but I suppose you could endear yourself to me soon enough. It's not like you would be hard to feed, and I _do_ find myself needing a hasty escape from time to time. Whose horse _are_ you, anyway?"

 _A horse thief_. A man could hang for stealing a horse. Imagine what _other_ horrible things he would consider doing? Namely; what horrible things would he consider doing _to her._ Ilia tried very hard not too, but the images flooded her mind and she whimpered. The man jumped. She covered her mouth and pushed herself against the roots of the tree. It was too late. He had heard—even worse, he _saw_.

Worse still? _He smiled._ The corners of his thin lips pulled up to his high cheekbones. His eyes jumped to every detail. She did not want to know what he was thinking, but she already had an idea. He was thinking of pulling her out and riding off with her. Would he kill her quickly when he was done, or was he the type to savor it? Would he kill her at all, or would he leave her half-dead in the woods for boars to gore and vultures to eat?

Her hands clenched into fists. Why bother with pleasantries when he was a fated for the gallows? He was red-cheeked from the thrill of his crime, and his black hair was wild and windswept. There was blood on his face, fresh, still a little shiny, some dried on his cheek, some dried on his shoulder. She could see it pulsing through a vein under his neck. Dragging her out by the hair, throwing her down on the ground and… Ilia shuddered. It was a tempting reality for him.

"Hey."

Ilia looked back to his eyes. They were pale, grey like flint. They moved quickly. She did not trust them. His voice was quick, and too sweet. It was fake.

"Don't be scared. You have nothing to fear."

Ilia shook her head. She had plenty of things to fear. She would not let herself be deceived. He moved suddenly to grab her before she could slip away from him. Ilia took a breath to scream even though she knew the only one who had a chance of hearing her was King Bulblin, and if she had to choose, him or… or… Farore's embrace, she did not _want_ to choose!

Farore heard her. The man stopped. He pulled away. He turned his attention back to the untouched apple in his hands, showing it to her with a smile before he split it in two without even a knife. Ilia had never seen anyone do that before, but she was not impressed. Had Farore planted a small seed of mercy in his heart, or was he just trying to lure her out because it was easier to kill her that way?

Carefully, like she was some frightened animal that could turn on him at any second, he extended one half to her. Ilia gnawed at her lip to try and trick her stomach into keeping quiet. It growled. She had not eaten since that morning, and running for her life was hungry work. The smell was tempting, honey sweet. She bit down on her lip harder and put her hands behind her back to keep them from reaching out and taking it. The slice of apple in his hand was the only thing stopping him from grabbing her.

But she _was_ hungry.

The horse thief waited. He did not eat before her. He did not say a word. Ilia's heart stopped pounding and her stomach growled a little louder, trying to make her ignore reason. He could have, if he had wanted to, just dropped the apple and grabbed her. He had not. If he was going to use force, she told herself, he would have done it by now. Criminals were not _patient_. Not that she knew of. He need to make haste. He did not have time to wait for an _easy_ chance to kill her.

She grabbed the half of apple quickly and moved as far as she could from him to scarf it down. He did not try to grab her. He turned away from her hovel and ate in silence. Perhaps he thought it was friendly. Ilia did not. If he was not out there, she would have gathered as many apples as her torn shirt could hold. One half, even if it was sweet and juicy and perfect, hardly did anything for the hunger in her gut.

But there was peace. Outside, the birds sang. Ilia heard the leaves rustle as the horse took another apple. The man did not waste any energy trying to pull her out. She brushed the dirt from her legs. Her knees and shins were scraped and cut. Some of the loose dirt and bark was brushed away, some was just pushed deeper into her wounds and stung. Blood smeared and stuck to her fingers. She felt the fabric of her shirt tickling her shoulder. It was sliding off her completely. The seam was torn all the way to her neck, the right side was split from the seam and the back was almost split in two.

The shadow of his hand passed her hiding place again, and he left another gift. An open metal flask. Ilia was thirsty. The apple had been juicy but it left a prickling tang in her mouth. Now that she was fed, even a little, the pressing silence felt lighter. She could almost believe he was not going to hurt her; but she knew his face. She knew what he had done. It was bad for his neck to let her go free.

"It's poisoned."

"What?!" He was shocked. It sounded genuine. It could be that he had never intended to kill her—it could be that he had thought she was too stupid to realize he was going to try. It could be that he was good at pretending to be shocked and he wanted to trick her into believing she was safe, "Why would I offer you poison!?"

She did not want to say it. Saying it gave weight to it. Saying it made it true; she could not take it back once she said it. But what could she do, lie? He knew it already. She should not have said the flask was poisoned; now he knew that she knew. He would just find another way, he would just hide it better. "Because I know you're a horse thief."

"Dear girl," he grabbed the flask and took a swig to prove to her it was fine, but it was not a transparent bottle. It was a leather-bound metal. She could not see if he really drank, or if he held it to closed lips. When he turned it over and a single drop spilled out, she believed him. "The entirety of Castletown knows I am a horse thief. The wanted poster was in the bar before even _I_ knew I would be guilty of such malfeasance."

She was curious, but she did not ask. She started to. She felt her head tilt, her eyebrows pinch and her lips fell open with a breath to ask and her true nature won, for just a second. But she stopped herself. If he had one less reason to talk, he had one less reason to stick around. He let it go with soft grin and Ilia almost believed. "I do not wish to kill you. You have done me no wrong."

Implying he _could,_ if he wanted to. It did not matter. She was not going to put so much as a finger outside of her hiding place while he was there, promise of safety or not. Ilia settled into the dirt, preparing to wait him out. He fished around in his clothing, searching for something. A knife to threaten her with, perhaps? Was he going to stab her and leave her to bleed out? Could he reach this far? A rope? Ilia did not think that would be effective, and she doubted he had a spear hidden away. A sword or a spear she would have seen. He had none.

It was a second flask.

Surely that one was not poisoned, either? Or was it? It seemed more likely that it was all an act to gain her trust, but who in their right mind carried around _two_ flasks of poisoned drink? She reached for it, but she looked back to his pale eyes, then to his arms. There was a blood stain on his left sleeve, like a flock of birds from the drawstring at his wrist to his elbow. The billowy fabric hid the strength of his arms, but a man did not need strong arms to throw her around.

He tucked his hands away to reassure her he wanted to bring her no harm. Ilia did not believe him. She watched his arms closely as she reached for the flask. She knew he did not take his eyes off of her. He was waiting for her to look at the flask, waiting for her to let her guard down, waiting for his chance to grab her and pin her down into the dirt and... Her fingers touched the cool metal. She searched blindly until she closed her hand around it and pull it quickly back into her hiding spot.

What could she do with it? Drink it? Was poison a peaceful way to go, or was it painful? Would _he_ choose to burn someone's throat with poison, or put them into a never ending sleep with it? She did not want to die writhing in pain. She would rather go to sleep and never wake up. She did not want to drink it. Not until she knew. On any other day, perhaps she would be bolder, but today she felt like never trusting another soul again. She unscrewed the lid and dumped it out at her feet. At least it would be lighter. She put it back, "Thank you."

"My pleasure, dear girl." he said with a slight sigh. He leaned back against the tree. His eyes closed. His mouth frowned. He was thinking about something, probably about how to lure her out so he could kill her more quickly than poison. Ilia let him think. He would have to drag her out. She was going to stay put as long as she wanted.

She wondered if, should he try to come in after her, would there be enough space for her to squirm free and run? Ilia surveyed what little she could see and tried to imagine a grown man squeezed in beside her. He would grab her by the ankles and pull her back in, and there was certainly enough room for him to slide a knife across her throat. She would not escape him so easily. She pressed an ear against the largest root she could find and tried to listen for a rumbling in the earth that would tell her if King Bulblin came near. She could scream for his help—maybe if she did his pride would be stoked and any sick satisfaction he got from saving her would outweigh his rage, or the horse thief could satisfy his blood lust, leaving Ilia to settle with the _rest_ of his lust. She did not like the thought. She did not like the idea of surrendering, and having to _thank him_ while she did it. This man, however cool and composed he seemed, only needed to silence her, and was no match for King Bulblin. King Bulblin had a short temper, but he was as strong as an ox, and could be convinced to let her live.

But if she screamed for help and no one came? The man would waste no time disposing of her. She had to be certain.

"Would you like a proper meal?"

Before she could tell him no, her stomach growled. She hissed over the noise, " _That does not mean I am going to eat."_

The stranger stifled a laugh and nodded with an exaggerated frown on his face. He was mocking her, toying with her like Sera's cat toyed with a mouse. He was so certain he would have her dead by sundown? All he had to do was stay right there, eating apples and swilling rum until she cracked.

How those poor mice would beg for mercy if they could!

Ilia heard a strange sound. She jumped, but she did not make a noise.

She heard it again.

He was shuffling cards.

Eating apples, swilling rum, and playing solitaire! Ilia slouched back and hoped he did not start to whistle. Maybe she could go to sleep. The hole was not comfortable. There was no room to stretch her legs and her backside was starting to get sore-it was not a feather-lined hovel, It was lined with stiff roots and damp earth and and stones. If she turned to her side, she had to tuck her knees in, and dirt worked its way deeper into her scratches and she felt how uncomfortably wet the ground had made her clothes.

"Pick a card?"

Ilia looked. He had fanned the cards out, holding them with the backs facing her, close enough that she would not have to reach outside of her hiding place to take one. They were expensive-but marked. Ilia could see the ink used to decorate the backs was black as black could be, but some of the pattern was painted on with ink that had been thinned down, and looked a little smokey when the light caught it just right. It was a deck stolen from a richer man that he had turned into a tool to cheat and steal from other rich men.

"No."

He took the cards away. Ilia heard him start to count them out. He was probably paying close attention to the cards he gave her, thinking of what he could wager to get her to come out of hiding, "Perhaps a game?"

She was losing her patience, "No."

He was grasping at straws; "I could read your fortune."

He was probably going to tell her he was her true love and they were fated to have five children. She snapped, "Do you foresee yourself leaving?"

He said nothing. Ilia should have bitten her tongue off long ago. She should not have risked angering him. That was the last thing she wanted. A calm man was a man that would not try to hard to kill her—he was a man she could escape. A man she could bargain with.

He said nothing for a while more. The sound of shifting cards stopped and all Ilia could hear were the birds and the horse and her own breathing. She relaxed—a man she could bargain with. That was a thought. He needed her silence, he needed to know that she would never tell a soul she saw him come, and she did not see him leave. He could get that with certainty by killing her and he could get it in exchange for a favor.

Ilia had a favor.

She eased herself forward as quietly as she could to size the man up. He sat with his legs stretched out and his arms folded. He did not look like a bad man, his eyes followed the horse as it searched for new apples to eat and he looked like he had taken a liking to it. He was taller than her, stronger, too. With his arms folded, she could see the width of his bicep and how broad his shoulders were. He was a stranger here, King Bulblin would not expect him.

If he was so eager to kill, he could try his hand at killing bulblins. If he succeeded, King Bulblin would he dead, and she would not be guilty of any crime. He could take his horse and she would be on his way, favor for favor, problems solved. If he _failed_ , there would be one less horse thief in the world and… Where would that leave her, though? She would _still_ have to deal with King Bulblin.

Ganondorf would just send someone worse.

"I have no place to be," he spoke suddenly. Ilia jumped back into the shadows. "No place to go…"

"D-don't get the idea you can come with me. _You can't._ "

"But you are not lost, it only makes sense for me to follow you."

"No." Bargaining had been a stupid idea. "You may not follow me."

"How will I get my bearings if I cannot use the nearest village to orient myself?"

"I am not going to…" She did not want _King Bulblin_ to see her with a third man. It would be a disaster for them both. "I will tell you the way, just go and don't tell anyone you saw me here."

He twisted were he sat, crouching down so he could see her. He was curious. He tried so very hard to sound honest, and to catch her eye, "Perhaps the offer is improper, but if you've no desire to see home again, you are more than welcome to accompany me. With a horse like Kolya we can get as far as we like, even if he is stolen."

"A-anywhere?" She should not have let herself get carried away with the idea, to let him see that it was something he could use, but the idea that she could be somewhere else, anywhere else, nearly stopped her heart. It was enough to pull her close enough that he could grab her. To go _away…_ To never see King Bulblin again… "A-anywhere? Anywhere at all?"

"Not Castletown. I will be hanged if we go there, but there's nothing for you there, anyway. You don't have to go home… Or… or we can walk right past it with our heads held high, in defiance of them all. We can go anywhere."

 _Anywhere_.

Ilia felt the dirt on her cheeks crack as she smiled. Arcadia was a long way away—miles away. But it seemed so _close_ now. She could see the house her mother had grown up in, meet her grandmother… She could have a life of her own, one for herself. She would not have to shy away from a husband or dodge King Bulblin anymore. Would he really do that for…?

No. She pulled herself back, her heart stopping with the horror of what she had nearly agreed to. He was just trying to keep her quiet. She could not tell anyone where he went if she was hundreds of miles away surrounded by strangers that spoke another language. Even if he _did_ take her as far as Arcadia, he would pin her down every night and demand repayment. He would leave her lost halfway there when he had grown tired of her; pregnant, rupeeless, surrounded by people that did not care. He would never look back. He was lying.

"You don't want to help me."

"I will."

"But that is not what you _want._ "

His eyes dropped away from her. He scooted back carefully. Ilia felt sick. Were they all like that? Was Colin going to end up exactly like that, too? Did he feel any guilt at all? Ilia did not ask. If the answer was yes she would never believe it, if it was no, she did not want to know. She sat back down. Arcadia was far away. Unreachable. All of Hyrule stood in the way.

"Go southwest. You will find a trail, go north and you will find a stream, go south and you will find Ordon village. The Bulblins probably won't let you in, and they'd accuse you of stealing the horse even if it _was_ yours. They might ask if you've seen me... No, they _will_ ask if you've seen me. Don't tell them unless they threaten to kill you, because they will kill you."

He was confused, "Bulblins?"

He could quit the act. He had been to Castletown, no one just suddenly appeared in Castletown. He had to have visited at least _one_ other town in Hyrule. Obviously he knew there were Bulblins.

"They're lurking around every village. Ganondorf has them everywhere."

He still looked confused. He sat back, a strange look on his face. He was thinking deeply about something; why she did not want to return to her home, perhaps, if the Bulblins had anything to do with it. She did not want to tell him, he did not ask, "Horrid, I'm sure."

He did not sound convinced.

"Horrid." Ilia insisted.

The man sat back, his thoughtful frown remained. Then it deepened. His forehead wrinkled, and now that his face was not in the glare of the sun she noticed his eye were quite green. He had many questions, but none of them were what he asked:

"When I hear your mother calling into the darkness for you, what should I say? When your father demands to know where you are, what should I tell him?"

It cut her to the quick. He was right—he had told her nothing, but he was _right_. She had no mother to call into the darkness, but Uli would. Maybe Sera would. Her father would worry. She supposed he would give her a day to come back on her own, same as her uncle, but King Bulblin? What if he decided to hunt her down if she was gone past the sunset?

What if he killed her father? The children? What if everyone was already dead? What if he was throwing torches on their roofs now, while his thugs scattered Fado's herd? It would all be her fault! He could do anything he wanted—she should not have been so stupid. What if she went back and he was sitting in the ruins waiting for her? Or What if she ran away and he only destroyed everything because she chose not to return? What should she do? What could she do? What was she supposed to do?

She wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to cry. What would have become of her if she had not run away? Would she be dead now? Staggering home in tears or laying in the dirt in the Bulblin camp, too used and ashamed to move? Why had she been so stupid? Why had she let herself get so worked up over nothing? She _still_ was not certain this man would not kill her. That was not _his_ blood splattered over his cheek and shoulder.

"You will not hear my mother," she told him, "She is dead. You will not hear my father. He will not worry for at least a day. If you're out of town by then, how will he ask you?

He sat back and nodded in agreement, but he did not move.

"Will you make your way to the river? I could join you there. I would be an extra set of hands, a hunting bow and a fire striker at your disposal." he extended his hand, but only so close that the shade of her hiding place came to his wrist, "Water always leads to cities, I wouldn't even need to go to your home. We can camp at the river, and follow it to our fortunes a first light."

The idea of that freedom was so tempting. So painfully tempting.

What should she do? She could not live in the woods forever. Eventually King Bulblin would lose patience and come hunting for her. Her father would worry, but he would send Rusl to find her, because he would consider it more important to appease King Bulblin if he had not already burned everything to the ground. She did not think Fado would come, he would think it easier to find a new fiancee. Sera would probably have a hand in that.

Even if she did return and Ordon was still standing, what then? King Bulblin would not just let her get away with disrespecting him. She hated to think that he would storm into her house in the middle of the night and drag her out again—she hated to think it because she was certain her father would let him. He had to. He was her father, and he loved her, but he was also the mayor. It was his job to keep the peace. It was why he told her to ignore the fact that the village needed firewood and stay away from the Bulblins all together.

And Sera? Would she consider her an acceptable daughter-in-law after that? That was all she wanted, an acceptable daughter-in-law to keep her son from moving to Castletown permanently. That was why her way of helping Ilia had only been to speak over her and tell her how nice it was to be a goatherd's wife and make cheese and churn butter. Pergie would pat her hand and assure her he would stop once she and Fado were married. Uli's way was to tell her to quietly bear it, to thank him politely for his crude complements and his awful offers.

Rusl's way was to tell her to push past and ignore him. Fado's way of protecting her was to ask her if she wanted to marry him, assume the answer was yes, and the immediately leave her to face the brunt of King Bulbin's jealous rage. Alone.

No one's way of helping her was to _actually help her._

Colin and Talo tried their best, but their arms were still too short. And Beth… Ilia's stomach tied itself in a knot. Without her, Beth would be next in line for King Bulblin's attentions. No one could protect her but she had to protect Beth. She was twelve—only twelve. Ilia knew that it did not matter to that monster.

She wanted to leave them all behind but… What about Beth? Colin, Talo and Malo? If she stayed in the woods, they would find her by accident before too long, and they would tell their parents—the Bulblins would hear it and they would come after her. If she left them… What would become of them?

Travel with a man she did not know, could not trust, and his _stolen_ horse? Be labeled as an accomplice and hang alongside him if the law caught up with them? Knowing what he would ask for in return? Was that worth it?

Had he… _Really_ asked for it? He had only smiled at her and tried to put her at ease. He had not been a perfect gentleman, but he _had_ been polite. He _was_ kind. Maybe he was not as rotten as she had feared, "What is the benefit to you?"

"Peace of mind." he said with a soft smile, "You've been running scared, you've been crying. I can't just leave you here if you want to leave. Not when I can take you."

Ilia saw something then, something strange. A glint to his eye, a twitch in his mouth that made her think, maybe he was on her side, somehow. Maybe something she had said had made him feel some kind of pity for her. Maybe she should take a chance. Only for a night, she could think it over on a full stomach and make a choice in the morning. She would not be able to sleep anyway. "You… You won't touch me?"

He took his hand away to show he was honest, "I won't touch you."

Ilia moved to the mouth of her hollow. He backed away. It was harder to climb out than it had been to dive in, but he stayed true to his word and he did not lay a finger on her to help, maybe because he wanted the satisfaction of her caving and asking for his help, or because he did not want to make her nervous. Ilia gritted her teeth and pulled herself out. Her bruises ached as they were dragged over the hard roots and her limbs groaned with the effort of even _more_ work.

She straightened herself up against the tree and waited for his shadow to stretch over her, for his hands to grab her and pin her against the tree. He did not move. She caught her breath. She swallowed her fear, held the tears of her tunic closed at her side and her shoulder and turned around to face him, "My name is Ilia, sir, and you will take me to my grandmother in Arcadia."

"Sir?" his laugh was like a puff of smoke, "Have I been knighted? Have I gone gray? I'm barely done being nineteen. No need for such little formalities, Ilia."

Ilia did not take her eyes off him. She was out, and he had not thrown himself at her to kill her, but she still did not trust him completely. She turned to the trail she had carved out to the river in four years of going there. The horse followed her. He followed the horse. He came up beside her, the bit and bridle and reins were tangled in his hands. He did not try to untangle them, "Where does this river lead?"

"A lake in Catalia." she said, "According to my uncle."

It was a coal mining town called Canary. According to Rusl it was because they took little yellow birds in wooden cages down into the mines with them-if the canary died, the miners knew to leave because there was not enough air to breathe. The man that owned the mine had made lots of money selling it to make something called black powder. Rusl had never told her what black powder was for.

"Canary?" the man asked.

Ilia was stunned that he knew the place. Rusl said it was a small town, that only visitors were merchants looking to buy the coal. The man was Catalian, her uncle's accent was strong, and so was his, but he did not look like a merchant, least, not one that dealt in black powder. He certainly did not look like a coal miner. He was clearly too vain for that. He might have worked as a shill, though. Maybe he worked as a shill in Canary. Quacks would peddle their stuff anywhere once they ran out of big places. A man had come to sell Snake Oil in Ordon once, it was hard for his shill to really be of much help in a town so small everyone knew everyone else. King Bulblin had broken the shill's wrist because he had smiled at her and pushed the salesman's cart into the gorge under the bridge. They had rode away and never returned. Ilia had been thirteen."Y-yes."

He said nothing. His hands worked quickly to untangle the horse's reins from the bit and bridle. It was a long strip of leather-longer than normal because Kolya was a big horse. Ilia looked up to him as he walked on her right. He had green eyes, too, big and clear, its hooves were bigger than her thigh. She combed her fingers through its red mane and he huffed in approval, bowing his head so she could reach.

She was familiar with horses, tired, dust-covered mares with tattered manes and sagging backs and hooves in desperate need of shoes. Every merchant's horse was the same. This was not a merchant's horse. It was not a pack-horse or a draft horse, though it was big enough to be one-his saddle fit. It was _meant_ to be ridden, but by _who?_ The stranger was only a little shorter than Rusl, and Rusl was of average height. Rusl would be too short for this horse.

Whose horse _was_ he?


	3. Change of Heart

Ilia could not be lost.

She knew these woods like the back of her hand. She had entered them almost every day of her life for the past ten years. Even before she could _walk_ her aunt or her uncle or her father had carried her through on their backs. Beside her, the man focused on untangling the long loop of leather from the wooden bit and the studded bridle. Ilia wondered if he was thinking of strangling her with it. He had enough free leather to do it. He also had a bowstring he could wrap around her neck, and his bare hands.

Ilia put a hand on the horse's neck for comfort. She could not be lost… But they _should_ have found the trail by now. At the very least, she should have heard a Bulblin horn blast or a stampede of hooves, but aside from the singing of birds and the jinging of the horse's bridle in the stranger's hands, Ilia heard nothing. This deep in the woods, she should have heard the chattering of monkeys.

But there was nothing.

Ilia's hand tightened in the horse's red mane. It moved closer to her. Her feet started to slow. How long had she walked? What about the horse? The stranger showed no sign of tiring, but he had been pushing the poor creature to its limits, and if she went on much more, she would faint. Her head was spinning. Her throat was dry. Her chest ached. They both needed water. It was time to confess that she had no idea where they were. The sooner she did, the sooner… What? He was just as lost as she was, and...

The stranger tripped over his own feet. He grinned, about to laugh at his clumsiness. Ilia wondered what he thought was so funny but then she remembered—he had downed a whole flask of rum. Perhaps anything would be funny after such excess. She watched him straighten himself. The grin slipped from his lips before he let himself look her in the eye.

It was time; best tell him now while he was drunk and more likely to laugh. She swallowed. She tried to keep the fear out of her voice, "I'm lost."

A little tremor shook through his face. Shock? Amusement? Anger? Ilia was not sure, it was gone too quickly. He raised his eyebrows a little too high and tilted his head a little too far. It seemed to her he did not care at all, "Oh?"

Ilia looked forward with a huff. Of course he did not care. He did not have to take her all the way to Arcadia if she was lost in the woods. Ilia looked at the spread of trees before her. Yew, oak, maple… She could identify them all, "I've covered every inch of this forest. I know it like the back of my hand. I can't be lost."

He was silent.

"I'm just… shaken." she soothed herself. She shook her head to try and jolt herself back to reality—it just made her head pound and toss. She used the horse to keep herself stable as she started to walk forward again. She needed to focus. He was preoccupied with untangling the reins, so he would miss the trail if they encountered it. If she was too tired to think straight, so would she.

Eventually, she found water. A little spring bubbled up from a bed of stones. It was perfectly round, and free of dirt and fish, as if the goddesses had put a basin of water out for them, like they were nothing more than their pets.

Ilia had never seen this place before. She knew every inch of Faron woods—and this was not some small little spit of water she could have easily missed. This was a pool big enough for her to relax in. But it felt so fake—stones did not naturally fall into a round hole under the edges of white rock springs like a constantly flowing bathtub. The horse thought nothing of it. It tugged its mane free of Ilia's hand and dipped his mouth to the water. Neither did the stranger. He untied the drawstring of his cuffs and went to the far end of the spring, where the water spilled over the edge of the pool to clean his bloody sleeves.

"This… This isn't what I was talking about."

"It's water. Take what you can." he stood up, fingers working quickly to roll up his wet sleeve as he continued his circle around the spring.

Ilia did not like that answer. She gave the spring a wary look, but she followed the horse's example and cupped her hands under the fountain in the white rock, catching the water before it splashed into the pool below. She let it flow over her dirty hands to clean them, then she drank. The water was cold, and tasted of stone. Ilia splashed what was left on her dirty face. The cuts burned when the water touched them, and she was pulled back to crashing and tumbling blindly through the woods. The memory was fresh. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She kept her hands pressed over her face. She heard the man move closer and the sound of water splashing. A breeze blew past, chilling her chest and shoulders and she realized her tunic was soaked through. She dropped her hands. He was watching her, but pretending not to.

Ilia forced her tears down and made her lip sit still. She would not let herself cry in front of him. Tears he would try to dry, sobs he would try to comfort in the only way he cared to. She would not let him. She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth and forced her breathing to steady. The flood of tears was stopped, but it was not gone.

She distracted herself with dipping her feet into the water. It was cold and she realized just how terribly her feet ached. As she watched the dirt that had been caked between her toes and at her heel drift away, she thought of sitting on the jetty with Beth just an hour or so before. She squeezed her eyes shut. She would _not_ cry in front of him. Anyone else, her aunt, her father, even _Fado_ she would tolerate at this point—not him.

She picked at the splinter in her foot. It came out with a little blood and a little pain. She splashed water on the scrapes on her shins and knees. She bent forward to clean her arm. The bruise at her side ached. Her torn tunic dropped. She looked to the stranger.

He was not watching her. He was fiddling with something at his neck. Before Ilia could wonder, he wrestled himself out of his green vest. She thought he would offer it to her, but he laid it over his leg and pulled off his loose shirt. Ilia collected herself to run, but he did not throw himself at her. He did not even look. He just extended his arm backwards and said quickly, "Put this on. I should have offered it sooner."

Scars, Ilia swallowed with the shock, there were scars on his back, long and straight as a knife's blade. She could not imagine who put them there; but it had not happened just once. Her eyes traced the longest one that cut across both shoulders before she reminded herself _she_ would not like him staring at her, she had no right to gawk at _him_. She closed her fingers around the fabric and tugged it free.

She did not ask, she was curious, she did care, but she did not want to know. She pushed the image from her mind and dropped his shirt over her head before removing her own, squirming out of the torn garment awkwardly. Though it smelled of sweat and rum and some woody musk she did not recognize and did not like, it covered her better than her torn shirt did, even with wet sleeves.

"Thank you."

"Just wish I had a clean one for you." he said. Ilia turned around to see him putting on his woolen vest. He did not bother to lace it up again. He glanced back at her, just long enough to make sure she was still there, then he stood and stretched. His vest shifted and Ilia could see the muscles flexing at the small of his back, the ridges of his spine as his skin shifted, and a scar peeking out like a snake, "I'll... get that fire going, then."

And he walked off. Ilia twisted to watch him go, when she could not see him she listened to the branches movning. She stood up and pressed herself against the rock to watch him reach up and break a branch to mark his trail, and then she watched until she could not see him clearly, until she could no longer hear his feet crunching in the leaves. She watched until he was gone, and she was free to run…

She looked around, searching for anything she recognized. She saw nothing. She had no idea where she was. She would only get herself more lost, more thirsty, more hungry. He might bother to look for her, he might not. He might find her—King Bulblin might find her first. She best thing she could do was curl up and cry in peace. She eased herself down into the grass, her back to the white rock. He was gone. She could cry all she wanted.

But the tears did not come.

She frowned—she had the perfect opportunity, and she had been about to fall to pieces a moment before. But no, nothing. She was completely fine now. She stood back up again. She picked up her shirt from the pool's edge and smoothed it out. She could make herself useful, there were plenty of wild plants to gather in Faron woods. Maybe she could find another apple tree, some wild carrot or berries. As she walked past the horse huffed, then whinnied to get her attention. He shook his head, his made flying. He counted the ground before reaching his head back and trying to tug the saddle pad off with his teeth. He could not reach.

"How rude of him, to steal you and then leave you saddled up here." Ilia smiled. She unbuckled the thick leather strap and had to stand on her toes to get the saddle in both hands, only to collapse under its weight. While the horse neighed in approval and pranced away, shaking free of the saddle pad, Ilia struggled to drag the saddle to drier ground. She carried it to the edge of the clearing, where two stumps sat between a cleared circle of dirt and a ring of stones. The few steps had left her out of breath. She retrieved the saddle pad from the water's edge and used it as a cushion as she sat down on one of the stumps to catch her breath..

She returned her attention to her ruined shirt, tying the torn ends of the shoulder and side seams to make a makeshift sling for herself. It was not ideal, but she could hold more in the shirt than she could in her arms. She walked in the opposite direction, following the stranger's lead and breaking small branches as she went to mark her way back.

She waited for some memory to grab hold of her heart and send her to tears again, but none would. The memory of King Bulbin pinning her to the gorge wall made her numb now, not sad, not angry. Maybe it was the dull throbbing of the bruise at her side or the stinging, clean scratches on her arms and legs reminding her that it was in the past, or maybe it was the road to Arcadia stretching out before her and the knowledge that he would never be able to lay a finger on her again, but tears would not come.

"As long as its past." she told herself as she knelt down to pull a group of red mushrooms from the base of a walnut tree. The branches were too tall for her to reach, but there were enough to nibble on scattered on the ground, and if she marked the trail well enough on the way back they could find it again in the morning.

She kept her ears open for King Bulbin, but she thought he would never find her now. She was beyond his reach. She reached up to snap another branch as she picked her way through the dense trees. She was lucky to find three apple trees growing in a row. She picked them clean and went on her way, looking down at her horde of goods with a spring in her step. Even if he came back empty-handed, they would still eat well. She only had to worry about feeding two people. It was refreshing.

 _Two people._ The thought pricked her like a thorn. She thought about the children in Ordon. They might not eat so well from now on. She stared at the bright red apples and she felt guilty, and she looked to where she thought Ordon might be. The nights were getting colder. Winter was drawing nearer every day, how would they get firewood without her?

They would not be able to get it for themselves. She was only able to get it because King Bulblin had let her do it. He did not let anyone _else_ take what they needed from the woods. Just her. Had that been the point of his bullying, to let Ilia know only _she_ was allowed to scavenge in the woods, to frighten her into never choosing Fado or escape? Her hands tightened on her makeshift sling. They would freeze in the winter… if King Bublin did not kill them to punish her first.

"No." she assured herself, "No, they'll figure something out."

She followed her trail of broken branches back to the camp. The stranger— _her guide_ , Ilia reminded herself, sat on one of the stumps with a little fire blooming to life on the circle of stones. She crossed behind him to the water's edge, she started to wash the apples and mushrooms, checking them for signs of worms. The water would wash the dirt away. The walnut shells were thick, only a rock would be able to get through them.

When she came to the fireside again the stranger was skewering half of a freshly slaughtered wood pigeon onto a stick he had whittled down. One was already roasting. To save time, he had skinned them instead of plucking them, slicing it between the breast and thigh so the meat would cook faster. The sight of its discarded remains turned her stomach. It made her think of her chickens back home. Now, of all times, her eyes chose to burn and mist. Ilia bit down on her lip. She did not want to cry in front of him. She sat down opposite him, "I never asked your name."

"You had other things on your mind." he smiled and stuck the second portion into the ground by the flame, "Call me Archer."

"Archer." she echoed. She unrolled the wet sleeves of his tunic and hoped the heat of the fire would dry them out. She slipped from the stump to her knees in the circle and dragged her sling of food with her. She brushed the stones surrounding the fire clean and set the mushrooms and apples down to cook in the heat.

She put herself back on the stump and watched the fire. It was better than glancing up at him and seeing him stare intently at her, or glancing up at him and having her eyes drawn to the line of his shoulder or his bare chest. He had given her his shirt on purpose. She could have just worn his vest over her torn shirt. She should not have let him do that. Her eyes started to well up again. She hoped he did not notice.

But he did.

"So…" he asked cautiously, "Why so keen to leave?"

Ilia did not answer. She did not _want_ to answer because she knew she would start crying. She did not want to do that. Not in front of him. She stared at the apples and tried to ignore him.

He would not be ignored.

"If I'm going to be taking you all the way to Arcadia, don't I have a right to know?"

"Yes."

"So?"

"I… I just do. I'll never get a chance to go." It was not convincing. She knew it was not; she did not bother to try. Archer was quiet. It was not judgemental, it was patient. It still made her angry, "What?"

"That's a stolen horse." he reminded her, "If you're going to running away, is it worth hanging over?"

"Get rid of the horse, then."

Behind Archer's back, Kolya's head shot up. Its green eyes fixed on her in horror.

"No." Archer refused, "He's perfect and I am keeping him."

Ilia watched the horse relax. The apples started to smell sweet. The mushrooms were starting to char. She turned them over and did not say anything. He continued to press her, "It should be something more groundbreaking than a broken vase."

He was right, "It is."

"If your father's going to come after me with a pitchfork…"

Her father was not that driven, "He won't."

"Or if a fiance is going to accuse me of anything improper…"

Ilia did not think Fado would care that much, "He won't."

"Or if one of those Bulblins is going to pursue us until the ends of the earth…"

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

" _You killed someone!?"_

Ilia looked up at him. He looked like he was actually, _really_ shocked this time. His eyes were wide. His mouth was hanging open. He leaned away from her.

"No." she corrected him, "No, I'm asking you. You said you did not _want_ to kill me. Not that you _couldn't_ or _wouldn't_ kill me. Just that you'd rather not."

"Oh—Oh, Ilia, is that why you've been so…?"

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

He straightened himself out and he did not meet her eyes for a while. He looked at the crumpled, bloody mess of gore at his left, then to the horse's saddle, his bow and quiver right beside it. Ilia blinked her tears away while he squirmed under her eyes.

"Tell the truth. Don't lie."

She did not know what she expected. On the one hand, he really did not _seem_ like the type to end a person's life. On the other hand, part of her wanted him to say yes. He had enough knives to be a killer. She could see two of them already. On at his hip, one on his right arm. Knives and a bow and a quiverful of arrows. He could be.

"Yes." He still did not look at her, "Yes, I have. It was not in cold blood, if that puts you at ease. I was not paid to do it."

Now that she had heard it, she wanted to unhear it. She should not press the matter. She did not _want_ to press the matter, but she did. She had too. She fixed her eyes on his, gnawing at her lip nervously, "Do you think you could kill a Bulblin with ten minions working under him? Strong enough to push a fully loaded cart off a cliff, or ride up at you swinging a solid steel war hammer twice the size of your head with one hand?"

"... I should hope I don't have to."

"Then you'll take me to Arcadia."

"I will take you to Arcadia." he agreed, "But where in Arcadia?"

"Ilium. She lives in Ilium."

He nodded, "Well, that's south. Very south. We've got all of Catalia, some of Moria, and most of Arcadia itself between her and us."

Ilia slouched down, that sounded like it would take years. She did not want it to take years.

"It is not a quick trip, to be sure. It will take us two months if the weather permits, a fortnight more if we are unlucky.

"So quick?" She could hardly believe it. The world was really so small? It was Irenas now. Her birthday was in Rutasmon. If he was telling the truth, she would arrive by Nabura. Before she was even _seventeen_ , she would be there?

"That quick." His smile gained an edge. He sounded uneasy, "But it will not be an easy trip. Not everywhere we go will be as hospitable as Faron province. I won't ask you to do anything you aren't comfortable with..."

"You don't mean _stealing_." Her eyes narrowed. She was positive he was fishing for something else entirely. "Do you?"

He looked offended at first. His mouth opened to protest, but then he frowned and examined her coldly. Then he smiled. It was mischievous. She had seen Talo smile like that plenty of times. He had something biting to say, or something he _thought_ was biting. He did not say it. Instead, he looked up at her from under his dark eyebrows, "Can you sing?"

"What?"

"I am past the age where I turn heads with my voice, but you? They'd sit for hours, and if you are any good, they will pay you. I can teach you songs. There will be time abundant between cities, and it will be an excellent way to teach you Catalian and Arcadian."

Ilia could barely read; how could she learn another language? Perhaps Archer could teach her the words, but she would never truly _learn_ them. She had not raised her voice in song for years now. Once she knew King Bulblin would use any excuse he could to hound her, she had started to bite her cheek to stave off the urge. She had trained herself never to sing, not even to cheer herself up, "What if I can't?"

He was teasing, his eyes glowed and he smiled big. Ilia thought of Beth's big smile and glowing eyes. A hook twisted in her gut. "Perhaps you are good at holding _very_ still? You're so small, I probably would not hit you when I throw knives."

She shrank back, pressing her knees together and shaking her head. Teasing or not, she would never agree to something like that! What if she rejected his advances on too many times and he decided to make it look like an accident? What if he just got too drunk to aim right? Too many risks! "I'll try singing."

"Oh…" he let his tongue snap against his teeth as he said it, his hand came to rest at his cheek, as if she had slapped him, "But I would have bought you a pretty new dress—no one wants to watch knives get thrown at an urchin, after all."

He might still have been teasing, but she did not want to owe him the cost of a dress, no matter how pretty it was. She could wear pretty dresses when she was safely in Arcadia and he was far away. She would rather be a bad singer in rags that dead in a pretty dress. "I will sing."

Archer chuckled. He turned his face down to the fire to check the meat, but he looked up at her under his lashes and black curls. "After the cost of food and lodging, you will receive fifty percent, which you can spend on what you wish."

She was sure that, mysteriously, there would be nothing left after food and lodging were taken care of. She did not need money anyway. She could work at her grandmother's inn. She would earn all the money she needed then. Talo made big promises. Talo could not keep those big promises. Archer was probably just the same. "Okay."

He turned the bird to cook the other side. It promised to be bland, but it did smell nice. She would not call it a _proper_ meal, but even unseasoned meat was better than the stew of mushroom and turnips and stale bread she usually choked down. She had even grown sick of goat cheese these days—of course, goat cheese usually came with Fado and...

And there it was again. All that time on her own and she could only cry in front of him? Ilia wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward, hoping the heat of the fire would burn her tears away. They did not burn. Her next breath was staggering. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep herself quiet. He was not looking at her. If she just kept quiet…

She leaned away from the fire. She was only singeing her eyebrows off. She covered her face with her hands. Her skin felt feverish because of how close she had come to the fire, so hot the tear that escaped her eye felt cold.

"Ilia…"

"No."

He said nothing.

Even if he did deliver her to Ilium, what if she wrote to Ordon and she never received a reply? Or even worse, heard that her aunt's letters had suddenly stopped without warning and her grandmother looked to her for an answer? Ilia would have to quietly carry that guilt for her entire life. Would she be capable of doing that? She could never tell her grandmother, before today she had been the girl her first daughter had died giving birth too. Today she was the selfish brat that had killed her _youngest_ daughter, too. Killed her own father, her uncle, her cousin… Why would her grandmother welcome her into her home?

How could she even ask her too?

"I have to go back home."

Archer did not argue, "Eat first."

Ilia looked to the skewer of meat. Her hunger outweighed the fear she felt for Ordon, but it did not stop her from crying. She was careful to eat it slowly, she did not want to rush and choke because she was trying to eat and cry. Beside her, Archer was quiet. Ilia did not blame him; she had said she wanted to go to Arcadia. It was in his best interest to take her _away_ from anyone who might come looking for him. Ordon was closer to Castletown than Ilium was. He might be re-considering killing her.

Ilia did not want to explain. She wanted to eat. It had been good advice. Whatever happened when they turned back, she could face it better on a full stomach. Archer tossed his used skewer into the flames and took an apple from the ring of stones. He hissed as it burned him. He moved the others back. Ilia took a mushroom for herself. It was a little burned, but still delicious.

Archer got to his feet abruptly. Ilia, jumped, thinking he was going to close his hands around her throat or stab her in the neck. When he did not, she asked, "Where are you going?"

He pointed up and past her to a tall oak tree that towered above the rest, "To determine our location."

"Are you sure you can?"

She did not want him to fall and kill himself. She could probably fashion something to drag him behind the horse comfortably if he was left alive but immobile, but she would rather he be _walking_ when he came to Ordon. It would be easier for everyone if he was. He had a chance of disposing of King Bulblin if he was alive, and he would be able to go on his way. If he was a horse thief, she did not want to have him lounging in her bed for days, harboring a horse thief was just as lethal as _being one_. He might even be the type to _pretend_ to be paralyzed just so he could have her attention.

"I was an acrobat for two years." He smiled down at her. "And a deckhand for six months before I came here. I can climb a tree."

Ilia was unconvinced. She frowned at his back as he crossed the clearing and headed to the pool of water, not the oak tree. That was something someone who was putting _off_ the task at hand would do. She chewed her food and he cleaned his face and hands. Then he helped himself to the water.

Ilia did not want to watch him slip and fall to the ground, she also did not want to be sitting by the fire only to hear him scream... and fall to the ground. She could always cover her eyes if she had a little warning. She ate the last scraps of meat off the bones and threw her skewer into the fire. Archer got to his feet.

For a man with so much confidence, he sure does take his sweet time, Ilia thought as he stretched out his shoulders with a soft sigh. She splashed water on her face, and rubbed her fingers under the surface to clean them of the rendered fat and charred crumbs.

Archer marched towards the tree. Ilia followed. He stripped off his vest and let it drop on the ground, and Ilia realized his big show of things was not to _delay_ climbing the tree. She frowned and watched the scars bend and warp as he stretched his back, bending himself from one side to the other. She wanted to grab a long stick from the fire and stab him in the side with it. She could also use his own knife.

He grabbed hold of the lowest branch and easily pulled himself on top of it. Ilia watched him pull himself from one branch to the next until the leaves were too thick. She pressed herself close to the trunk of the tree and craned her neck to see him. The branches became thinner and easier for his hands to close around, so he climbed faster. Ilia could hear him rustling the tree, but she could not see him. The noise stopped. It was quiet for a long time.

Ilia waited.

She looked back to the horse. The horse grazed. She looked back to the fire. The fire did not leap from its place. She looked back up to Archer. Archer was invisible.

She could not stand it anymore, "What do you see?"

"A lovely view, Ilia!" he shouted down, "I'll be down shortly. I know where we are."

Ilia waited for an answer that never came. Her heart started to pound; Ordon was burning. It had to be. She had not been able to smell the smoke of it because of the fire he had lit, or… The fire! It had led King Bulblin right to them and it was too late to run! Archer said nothing. Ilia's voice cracked, "Where? Where are we? Do you see Ordon at all?"

"Yes." he replied quickly. Ilia melted against the tree. "Not but four hours. Less if we aren't kind to the horse."

She tried not to cry tears of joy, "It's not on fire?"

"No. Not that I can see."

"You… you don't see anyone riding towards us?"

"Not a sign of them. I'm coming down now."

The rustling of leaves started again. It was more scary to watch him climb down than it had been to climb up, even if she was still rocking with the good news. Ordon was fine. It was alright. Maybe her father and had heard the commotion. Maybe he had finally given King Bulblin what he deserved. Maybe. Or maybe he had calmed him down with ale and a promise that he would have her in the end. Her father had promised her to Fado, after all. He did not take her opinion into consideration. Ilia pushed that thought from her head. No matter what her father had done, Archer might rid her of King Bulblin, and maybe he would still be willing to take her to Arcadia.

The Archer's feet lightly touched the ground. In a daze, he slipped back into his vest and took a moment to regain his breath before he walked back to the fire. He grabbed another baked apple before he kicked dirt over the flames. The fire died down. "We'll be there after sundown. I do hope your father won't be upset that I've ruined your dinner."

Ilia shook her head, "He probably ate with my aunt and uncle when he knew I would not be there to cook for him."

"I see." Archer whistled for the horse. The horse hurried over with a gleam in its eye, ready to squeeze in one last ride before the sun set. It bowed its head as Archer drapped the saddle pad over its back. With strength she envied, he hoisted the saddle up like it was nothing at all. It was still a task; the horse was quite tall and Archer was clearly new to the craft of saddling horses, but he was smart enough to figure it out.

As he fussed with the saddle, the horse bowed his and helped himself to what was left of their food. Ilia laughed. Ordon was closer than she thought and could be untouched. She allowed herself to laugh. She looked to the fire, it was still burning. She sprinkled more dirt over the Flames until they were choked down, leaving red and white coals and half-charred wood. Maybe it would come in handy for someone else someday, maybe it would sit there untouched until the end of time. Maybe she would find her way there again.

Archer cleared his throat. He was done fussing over the horse, and he presented his work to her with a half-bow. The horse puffed out its chest. "I can help you on if you need."

 _With help_ would have been the only way Ilia could have gotten on the horse. She realized that it would force him to break the promise she had made him take, but he was polite enough not to tease her about it or rub it in her face. She did not _need_ to ride the horse. She had a lot of energy now that she had been fed; she just _wanted_ to ride the horse. She had come a long way, and there were plenty more steps for her to take before she made it home. It could take one step for her every five, and she was so light it would probably barely notice her sitting on its back.

And it was such a _beautiful_ horse.

"Yes, thank you."

Carefully, Archer took her by the waist and half lifted, half pushed her into the saddle. Ilia pulled herself up awkwardly. The saddle slipped and she pulled at the horse's mane, but she did manage to scramble into the saddle, her legs were so short she could not reach the stirrups. All she could do was cling to the saddlehorn and pray. With a little more grace and flexibility, Archer swung himself up behind her and placed the shirt, filled with walnuts, in front of her.

Once the horse started moving, clinging to the saddle horn without the stirrups for extra stability just made her rigid and unbalanced. She would have been tipped over if he had not held her in place. She was new to riding horses, and with the stranger a bare inch away from her the last thing she wanted to do was relax, but once she did, balancing became much easier.

The horse picked its way through the trees until the sky was orange and the trees were dark purple shadows. Ilia stifled a yawn. The sky darkened, the trees thinned and Ilia caught her first real look at Hyrule Field. It did not seem like they were heading towards Ordon, but indeed Ilia had never seen Ordon from the outside. How would she know what it looked like from the field?

She could barely keep her eyes open to take it all in, anyway.

"Ilia?"

"No. Don't worry. I won't fall asleep." she yawned. "That's the last thing I need… Don't let me…"


End file.
